Employees and Murderers Must Wash Hands
by SupremeCommanderOfPencils
Summary: Here is a one-shot of what Shawn and Gus do best: banter, blab, and bust the bad guys.


_Our latest publishable creation :) Relax, read, review, and any other synonymn that starts with R for enjoy :)_

_Disclaimer: We don't own Psych, much less the fantastically amazing game Hungry Hungry Hippos, a blowtorch, Hogan's Heroes, or Christmas. Which brings up an interesting point-can anyone own Christmas? Apparently, if the Grinch stole it. I wonder if Santa owns it... has he ever had to take anyone to court?_

"Shawn, what are we doing here?" Gus questioned Shawn as they stepped out of the little blue car.

"Come on, Gus. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Of course I was paying attention. More than _you_ were."

"Gus, it was a donut shaped like an octopus! How often do you find those?"

"More often than those supposedly 'rectangle' ones." Gus said bitterly.

Shawn glanced back at him with disbelief. "Really? Dude, I keep telling you: they're everywhere."

"Those are oval ones, Shawn! They're nowhere near having the 90 degree angle that a true rectangle has."

"I can't do this with you right now."

"Fine." Gus came up beside Shawn. "So why are we here?"

"You know how Lassie kept insisting that there was a third man involved in the crime?"

"Yeah, and you told him that you'd sooner think a hippopotamus was going square dancing."

"Haven't you ever played _Hungry Hungry Hippos_? They're astoundingly agile. Anyways, the point is, he was right."

"Are you actually admitting that you were wrong?"

"Dude, I never said I was wrong, I just said he was right."

"Which is virtually the same thing."

"In a virtual world, yes, Gus! But this is the real world. Please keep up." Shawn strode into the building.

Shawn glanced around the large space, watching two men in filthy jumpsuits work on the engine and frame of a rusty old car. Sparks flew onto the hard concrete floor from the welding torch, and counters and shelves containing many miscellaneous car parts filled most of the wall space.

The workers, absorbed in their work, didn't notice Shawn and Gus' entrance.

Before Shawn could step forward, Gus grabbed his arm and pulled him back outside the door and out of view from the inside. "Shawn! Do _not_ tell me you want to go in there and tell those guys that they committed murder!"

Shawn yanked his arm out of his partner's painfully strong grip. "Don't be ridiculous, Gus." Shawn watched him relax before continuing. "No, not those _guys_, just that big one over by the engine." He peeked inside and pointed.

"The one with the _blowtorch?_"

"Relax, Gus. I left a message on Lassie's phone; he's sure to sweep in just in the nick of time as always. He'll be our very own Tom Cruise to save the day."

"You're depending on Lassiter to be Tom Cruise?"

"...Vin Diesel?"

"Shawn!"

"Okay, fine! I won't have any 'visions' until they get here. Until then, we'll just be normal customers." To avoid another death grip from Gus, Shawn quickly slipped inside and began walking towards the workers. Gus hastily followed.

"Dude, look at that!" Shawn pointed to a large, silver wheel that clung to the wall like a spider. "It's like the hubcap on Colonel Klink's car!"

"Wow, really, Shawn? Hogan's Heroes? That's like 15 years before you were born!"

"Can I help it if my dad is a hopeless rerun addict? Although I did have that _shhh-piel_ with MacGyver episodes after the traumatic end of season 7."

"I hear that."

Shawn's distracted gaze fell on a shelf cluttered with windshield wipers.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" The man with the blowtorch walked over and gave a polite smile.

Gus' eyes widened in shock and horror, leaving the conversation up to Shawn.

"Uh, yes, I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my esteemed partner, Squeegee McBucket. We were wondering if these windshield wipers come in any color other than black? I'm partial to Burnt Sienna, but Squeegee here prefers Tickle-me-pink."

Gus thrust his elbow in Shawn's side with a glare. The fake psychic flinched and glanced at him. "Oh, what? You _don't_ now?" Shawn gave the criminal an apologetic expression. "He's constantly changing his mind. It's impossible to buy him a Christmas present. You think you have the perfect gift, then the next thing you know, he suddenly doesn't like dollhouses anymore."

"That was _one_ time when I was six and you told me that my house had shrunk and my parents were stuck inside somewhere!"

"Such an imagination." Shawn shook his head at Gus in admiration "What I wouldn't give to regain mine from childhood. Then I could have an invisible platypus friend named Mr. Toupee, just like my buddy Squeegee here."

The man tinkering underneath a car on the other side of the room shot them an odd look. "Squeegee McBucket and Mr. Toupee?"

Gus swallowed nervously, more because of the convict standing next to them than the curious man across the room. "It's an old family name... my great... great, great uncle's... great grandfather... from Spain..."

"Nice." Shawn whispered to him, receiving a second glare as the man still at the car shook his head and returned to work.

"Anyways, Mr. Spencer, is there something I can do to help you?"

"As a psychic detective for the SBPD-"

"Shawn!"

"Ow!" Shawn winced as Gus' elbow found its way to his side again. "What?"

"You work for the police?"

"Oh... Oh! What? No, uh, did I say SBPD? I meant-"

Suddenly Shawn was against the wall, the man's meaty hands clenched around the collar of his shirt. Gus was standing behind him, wide eyed with shock. Both appeared to have forgotten the blowtorch that was now rolling on the floor.

"Can you loosen up on the shirt a little, man? It's not like I got this from Wal-Mart."

"That's exactly where you got it!" Gus rolled his eyes .

"What have you been doing, looking through my receipts?"

"I was with you when you bought it, Shawn! Besides, when you use business money for personal expenses, I have every right to look at the cost."

The criminal followed the out of place argument for a moment before he shook his head and tightened his fingers around Shawn's collar. "Knock it off!"

Shawn looked at him. "Dude, seriously, ease up on the death grip." He glanced down at his shirt. "Look, you've got oil all over it! I'm going to have to wash this."

"Which isn't necessarily a bad thing."

"Gus, whose side are you on here?"

"Cut it out!" The man glared between the two of them.

The door suddenly slammed open, shouts of "SBPD!" following Lassiter and Juliet's quick entrance. With their guns trained on him, the man immediately let go of Shawn's shirt and backed up with his hands raised.

"Lassie!" Shawn called out with a grin. "Jules! I knew you'd come with awesome timing! See, Gus? What did I tell you?"

"What are you two idiots doing here?" Lassiter questioned as he cuffed the guilty welder.

"See, Shawn! He didn't get your message!"

"What?" Shawn looked at Lassiter. "How could you not get my message? You've been coddling that phone ever since you talked to that one chick at the restaurant. What cell service do you have?"

"What?" Carlton jerked his head toward Shawn. "Who told you about that?" He glanced uncomfortably at Juliet and tried to ignore Gus' grin.

"Do I need to go over my job description with you again, Lassie?" Shawn said before he pulled at his shirt collar. "Man...Does oil come out of fabric?"

"Sprinkle cornstarch on it and let it set for half an hour before washing it." Jules inserted. Lassie and Gus gave her strange looks. "What? I have a lot of brothers."

Shawn glanced at the man who was now being handcuffed. "Are you taking him to interrogate? He's-"

"The third man, we know." Lassiter growled. "We get leads without your help, you know."

"So you know that he-"

"Yes, Shawn, we know the whole story, it fits together perfectly." Jules sighed in exasperation as Lassie handed the handcuffed man off to Buzz, who had come in a few moments ago.

Juliet and Lassiter turned to exit the building and head to their car.

"Don't I get to do the big reveal?" Shawn pouted. "Gus-"

"No, Shawn. To be perfectly honest, I don't care." Gus strode outside to the Blueberry.

"Fine!" Shawn shouted, before glaring back at his shirt collar. "Man..."


End file.
